Two Poems

Poetry / Hannah Sanghee Park

:: Wall ::

You must believe me it means I made this to tell you
I will keep you out I will keep you out of sheer will
I will it to stand. Deci­sion of divi­sion. The wid­ow couldn’t
stand the schol­ar, his need to pos­sess his pos­sess­ing need.
There is no thing that will keep you out I will lift up stone will
join it fast with mud I will build of you what is wished, and when
it stands my Lord will it stand? It will stand and when I can­not
bear it fur­ther then it will be known you will nev­er ask
of me my hand you will leave you will nev­er come back.
Out of mer­cy the king killed his son, who was mad. Who was made
to rule who could not love his father more who could not love his
sub­jects. This is the need of desire: noth­ing more than to con­sume.
And when noth­ing more is left to con­sume the king was at his wit’s
end the prince at his end Out of mer­cy the king killed his son, who was
dragged, strug­gling out into the court­yard no will to for­give.
It was July. Sun messy over the ground put into a rice chest
to be buried alive or boiled alive. In eight days he at last died
his body lat­er moved in the stone to soon be a fortress.
I have built of you a wall I will keep you out of mer­cy. The king
is left to con­sume of me my hand you who could not love his
need of desire: noth­ing, there is no thing that I will build of you.
It stands, my Lord no will to for­give. It means I made
need to pos­sess his life in my hands and when I can­not
bear it fur­ther mud on a skirt mar­ry­ing me to the rock
and when noth­ing more will lift up stone will nev­er come back
into the sea I will go messy over the ground I will keep you out
Father of stone and stone you will nev­er ask what is wished, and when
and when I can­not bear it fur­ther Father I will
nev­er come back but you must believe me in: I did this for you.

 

:: Excerpt from Elegy ::

How horribly human
how insensate divine

The life left
when the body bided its time

Summer of savagery
Your god was divine

Sun god above
The word was divine

Torturous men
made torturous rooms

Man is a monster
His heart was divine

You couldn't decode it.
The coda's defined

So go and
divine me
divide id
from mind

Whittle at
what little

providence
divined

Now speak to me of rot.
Now tell me what ruptured in 

someone who was loved
and anything divine.

 

 

From the writer

:: Account ::

These poems deal with loss—where the loss for words even­tu­al­ly becomes words, and per­haps from there it lessens. “Wall” melds a Kore­an folk­tale and an account from Kore­an his­to­ry. “Excerpt from Ele­gy” is for a more recent pass­ing, and is indebt­ed to Lau­ra Cechanow­icz.

 

Han­nah Sanghee Park is the author of The Same-Dif­fer­ent, the win­ner of the 2014 Acad­e­my of Amer­i­can Poets’ Walt Whit­man Award. The book is forth­com­ing from LSU Press in 2015. She is cur­rent­ly an MFA can­di­date in the Writ­ing for Screen & Tele­vi­sion Pro­gram at the USC School of Cin­e­mat­ic Arts.